It's My 100th Post!

I noticed this weekend that after about 10 months of posting, I'll finally be hitting the triple digits. And I can think of no better way to celebrate my hundredth blog post than by ending my blog! Yaaaaay!

OK, so I'm not giving it up, but I never really liked the name of the blog. I mean really, I'd like to think I can do better than ripping off the title of a Jack Lemmon/Walter Matthau movie. Not to mention the fact that I managed to come up with a web address that will be irrelevant in about a month when I turn 27.

That's why I'm shifting everything over to my new blog site, Looks Like Taylor Hicks. If you give a rat's ass, you're welcome to come visit over at www.looksliketaylorhicks.blogspot.com. If not, quite frankly, I don't blame you.

Verbal Bitch Slaps From William Shakespeare

As you may have noticed, I tend to lean towards immaturity when making a point about something that bothers me. I don't believe there is any point that can't be made better by adding a "shitbreath" or a "cockbag" here and there (double negatives are great too). But I do admit that sometimes I find it difficult to mix up the vocabulary. I mean, there are only so many variations that one can make to the word "dickhead."

That's why I've decided to get a little assistance from The Bard. My mother in law took a trip to England and came back with a desk calendar for me devoted to insults written into the works of William Shakespeare. Every Friday I'm going to share some of my favorites with you. So, let's see how one of history's greatest playwrights calls someone a poopyface.

"Thou whoreson mandrake, though art fitter to be
worn in my cap than to wait at my heels."
--The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth 1.2.14-15
I'm finding out pretty quickly that the best thing about Shakespearean insults is that you know you're being insulted without quite knowing how. To be honest, I have no idea what the hell this is supposed to mean. But I do think whoreson may be my new favorite word.

"No mates for you
Unless you were of gentler, milder mold."
--The Taming of the Shrew 1.1.59-60, Hortensio to Kate
Now this one I definitely get. Apparently Hortensio thinks Kate would get laid a lot more if she weren't such a See You Next Tuesday.

"You have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness."
--Much Ado About Nothing 5.4.41-42.
Now, this seems like a commentary on a person's face being weighed down with a dark, sullen temperament. But I prefer to think of it as "U! G! L! Y! You ain't got no alibi! You ugly! Yeah, yeah! You ugly!"

"Thou art an O without a figure. I am better than
thou art now. I am a fool, thou art nothing."
--King Lear 1.4.183-185, The Fool to King Lear
The insult here isn't nearly as awesome as the context. It's sort of like a bum walking up to Bernie Madoff, laughing in his face, and calling him a douche bag.

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: A Pin For The Butterfly

I'm not sure if this is a sign of the film-making style of the mid 90s, or if Hugh Laurie was just taking whatever roles he could get as a means of branching out from his usual goofball schtick, but these last few clips have been really fucking weird. Last week, we get a mostly naked Laurie practicing Thai Chi as a way to cope with his life as a con artist collapsing around him (thanks for the explanation from clat, by the way). This week, we get something that makes naked Thai Chi seem perfectly reasonable.

It comes from a 1994 movie called A Pin for the Butterfly. In it, Laurie plays an uncle to Marushka, a little girl who wants to escape the clutches of Stalinist Communism in Czechoslovakia and travel to America. This was an entry at Cannes, so you know you're in for some melodrama. But there is no real way to prepare you for what happens starting at around the 1:50 mark.



What the hell was that? Did we really just watch Hugh Laurie kill himself via electrified fence? Either this is a dream sequence, or Laurie was captured by the Communists and imprisoned in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Even if it was a dream sequence, I can't help but think the emotional impact of the scene was blunted by the fact that it's one of the more unintentionally hilarious moments in recent memory. First, we have the stock communist march playing in the background while the prisoners trudge their way to...well, who knows where the hell they're going. Then we get the vulture screech, which I can only imagine is the director's attempt at subtly telling the viewer that this camp is a hopeless place where people go to die. Either that, or he just thought a vulture would sound totally bitchin'.

Then there's the piece de resistance: Hugh Laurie declares his freedom with all of the flare and emotion of a high school student reading out of a Social Studies textbook. He sprints off, apparently leaving his fellow prisoner catatonic from his brazen act. He then takes a swan dive into a fence so powerful that it instantly vaporizes his skin and leaves only a perfectly white skeleton. Oh, and then cut to his skull perched on the fencepost.

I'm surprised that Cannes even bothered showing other movies at the festival in 1994. No way anything was going to top that.

Grumpy Movie Review: True Grit

I must admit that when I first read that the Coen Brothers were remaking the 1969 John Wayne western True Grit, I was less than thrilled. My main concern was that on the artistic ladder, remakes often fall somewhere between America's Funniest Home Videos and watching a dog eat its own crap. So when the Coen Brothers decided to dabble in remake territory, I felt a little bit let down. But I couldn't help but get at least a little excited when I saw this TV spot.

"I mean to kill ya!" That's just grizzled badassery right there. And that seems to pretty much be the theme of the movie. When Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) hires drunken Federal Marshall Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to find Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin) for killing her father, they cross paths with LaBeouf (Matt Damon), a Texas Ranger who has been tracking Chaney for a murder he committed in the Lonestar State.

From this point on the movie turns into an extended pissing contest between Cogburn, LaBeouf, and even Ross. Both men believe they are the ones to catch Chaney for their own reasons, and Ross believes her need for revenge means that things should be handled according to her direction. So they're constantly bickering and posturing while trailing Chaney, and it makes for some entertaining dialog. More importantly, all three characters are forced to stop talking a good game and actually follow through in some great gunfights that crescendo in a four-on-one shootout between Cogburn and a gang of ne'er-do-wells.

In fact, of all the characters in the movie, the one who proves to be the least tough is the murderer they are after, Tom Chaney. I went into the movie thinking that Chaney was going to be a Lee Marvin-type killer, both cold and threatening. But Chaney wound up being closer to a scrawny version of Mongo from Blazing Saddles. He stupidly mopes his way through most of his ten minutes of screen time. Kind of a let down considering the build up.

Other than Brolin's impression of the Looney Tunes abominable snowman, True Grit is a worthy addition to the Coen Brothers' catalog. As always, the cinematography is dark yet beautiful, as Joel and Ethan get some great shots in Santa Fe, New Mexico and Texas. And even though the movie pulled off a PG-13 rating, there is still the blunt violence you come to expect from a self-respecting Coen Brothers' movie.

But again, the real reason you go to watch this movie is for some great performances, especially by Jeff Bridges. I haven't seen the original version, but I'm still going to go ahead and say that Bridges is a better Rooster Cogburn than John Wayne. Acting for John Wayne, after all, tends to involve little more than putting on a costume and then continuing to act like John Wayne. Overrated, I say! Jeff Bridges, meanwhile, is probably most famous for playing a shiftless hippie several decades after it was culturally acceptable to be a shiftless hippie. Yet even though he's just a shade under 60, I would not want to fuck with him as Rooster Cogburn. That's called "range," children.

So I must officially retract my stance on remakes as being automatically awful. When done right, they can add something to cinema canon. And the Coen Brothers did just that with True Grit. It's a fine western, and made for a good way to cap off 2010 at the movies.

Grade: B+

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: All Or Nothing At All

Something that I didn't realize blogging is that it's very similar to working out. If you don't keep it up on a consistent basis, you tend to lose the motivation to keep doing it at all. I can't believe I've breezed through two weeks without one little complaint. I've got to get the blood flowing again. I'd make a New Year's resolution but by now we all know that's pretty much the only sure-fire way of guaranteeing that a person won't do something.

So instead I'll just get back into the swing of things with this week's Non-House Hugh Laurie. This time we find Hugh Laurie taking a darker tone in the mini-series All or Nothing at All. He plays a con man named Leo Hopkins whose addiction to the game starts taking its toll on him. It actually sounds like an interesting little tale, and if you're feeling bored it appears that you can actually watch the program in its entirety on YouTube.

What I'd like to show you, however, is an experiment in your powers of prediction. Begin watching the following clip from the 0:16 mark through the 0:30 mark. Then, take some time and predict where the story will have taken you by the 1:30 mark. Got a guess? OK go ahead and play the clip from that point.

Ha! Bet you didn't know the train was getting of at this station! The funny thing is that even with the context of the connecting 60 seconds, I'm still not exactly sure how we get from glib Hugh Laurie to crazy 80's B-movie villain Hugh Laurie. I will say that I'm more intrigued to give All or Nothing at All a chance just to make some sense of it. Or, if anyone has already seen it, you're welcome to just tell me.

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: Merry Fucking Christmas

OK, I realize that if this were a normal week House would have started already, and I said I'd post the non-House clips in the hour leading up to a new episode. But, thank Jesus, it's a Christmas miracle. House is on hiatus so tonight is just a rerun. So nuts to you. It's not like your reading this anyway.

To celebrate the season, I'm fast-forwarding this week's post to the year 2008 for Laurie's hosting of Saturday Night Live. But I must warn you, if you're anything like me then you will want to skip the cold opening by Gilly, a character so bad that it makes me long for the days of "It's Pat." Actually, scratch that. "It's Pat" still sucks ass. Anyway, skip to 0:15 to avoid the colon tumor that is Gilly.



I have to admit, this skit really shouldn't be funny. It's one of those one-note skits that SNL is infamous for (I love Keenan Thompson, but "What Up With That" is NOT FUNNY!). But I think I like it because it would be fun to have a Christmas dinner like that. Granted, I'm sure plenty of families do have a Christmas dinner like that and they would probably say it's not a good time. But what if you just planned a dinner where the whole point was to yell at each other and treat each other like shit. Then after about an hour you can go back to at least pretending to being nice to one another. I don't know, am I the only one who thinks that would be a blast?

Well, with Christmas coming up this will most likely be my last post until next week so have a fantastic Christhanukwaanza, and I'll leave you with a bonus clip: some unexplainable montage of Hugh Laurie pictures set to a piano instrumental of "Silent Night."

Take The Edge Off With The Greatest Kick To The Head I've Ever Seen

While I don't talk about it much on here, I'm pretty much addicted to mixed martial arts. I suppose that makes sense, since I use this blog as a forum to bitch about the things I don't like. But I saw a clip this week that I feel should be seen by as many people as possible. Therefore, I'm dusting off the "Take The Edge Off" post so that I can share this with anyone who may not be familiar with MMA and have not seen it. And if you are one of those people who still think that MMA is nothing more than "human cockfighting," well you are just wrong and I'm not in the mood to try and explain why.

First, you should know that the following clip comes from the final airing of a company known as World Extreme Cagefighting. Lame titles aside, it's been known as one of the few organizations to make the guys over at Ultimate Fighting Championships turn their heads. In fact, the owners of the UFC bought WEC, and used it as a forum for the smaller weight classes to show their stuff. The UFC recently decided to merge those weight classes into its own organization, so the fighters will have a home but there will no longer be a WEC.

Well, the final fight that the WEC broadcast this past Thursday is making waves as a potential fight of the year. Lightweight fighters Ben Henderson and Anthony Pettis put together a 25 minute epic fight, probably because they both knew that a win meant better job security going into the merger. I do have to admit, because the fight aired on Versus and I'm too poor to buy that TV package, I didn't get to see the whole fight. But we can all take a look at the move that probably earned Pettis a decision victory over Henderson.



I'm pretty sure I could watch that kick five times a day for the rest of my life and it would never, ever get old. It's just got everything. It's flashy. It's unexpected. It snaps Henderson's head back like a whip. The only thing I can't believe is that Henderson wasn't knocked out by that kick. That man must be a cyborg, because I'm fairly certain a kick like that would have made me cry. Not just tears in my eyes, either. I'm talking full-blown wailing in the middle of the cage. I wouldn't have cared who saw me.

I'd say the only disappointing thing about the kick is that Pettis gave it the rather weak name of the "Showtime Kick." I mean, I guess it's not a terrible name, but that kick deserves better than "not terrible." I'm thinking something along the lines of "The Deathfoot" or "The Decapitanator." Something with a capitalized "The" in front of it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. If not, watch it again because you must be doing it wrong.

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: The Legends Of Treasure Island

I remember when I first started looking into Hugh Laurie's back catalog, I found that this guy had some really impressive range. Originally seeing him in House, I didn't even realize that Laurie is English. He can really lose himself in a role, be it a crotchety but brilliant doctor, or a goofball Prince of England.

Which is why I find it so surprising that he spent most of his early career being typecast. Case in point: The Legends of Treasure Island. To this point, it seems as though most of Laurie's work has been as an ignorant, but well meaning aristocrat. But in 1993, however, the creators of Legends introduce Laurie to new territory as a voice actor. And how do the creators of the show exploit this new medium for Laurie? By making him an ignorant but well meaning aristocrat...and a bird.

If you take a look at this week's clip (starting at around 7:35) you'll see what I mean. The good news is that if you find yourself entranced by the whimsy of this animated tale, you're in luck because it's one of those shows that nobody gives a rat's ass about so YouTube has complete episodes posted. I, however, will just assume that the show ends with them finding treasure on an island of some kind.

Grumpy Movie Review: The Warrior's Way

That was just fantastic. I literally got through the door about 5 minutes ago after seeing The Warrior's Way and I feel obligated to proclaim it's glory. This movie just stamped a smile on my face that may not go away until 2011.

Now, I have to make a confession. I love movies. But they don't have to be great movies. In some cases, I'd prefer they weren't great movies. There Will Be Blood, for example, is supposed to be a great movie. I could barely get through it. Yes, yes, I get it. A man's greed and ambition will leave him empty and joyless. And then he'll kill a skinny preacher with a bowling pin. I still don't get why I had to waste two hours of my day watching it.

If I'm going to waste two hours, I'd much rather it be by watching The Warrior's Way. Subtlety? Who needs it. Character development? Kiss my ass. Plot? Ha. Let me sum up the plot for you. An assassin (played by Korean star Dong-jun Jang) refuses to kill the last remaining member of his enemy clan because she is only an infant. His clan then starts to hunt him down, and he escapes to a small town in the U.S.'s Old West where he befriends a girl (Kate Bosworth) who's looking for revenge against an evil colonel (Danny Huston). The assassin and the girl fall in love, and then a whole bunch of people get shot/cut to ribbons with swords.

If you think I've spoiled the ending for you, then you're an idiot and I'd like for you to be on your way. Of course a lot of people are going to die. This is exploitative trash, and that's why I love it. Everyone knows exactly what's going to happen, but that doesn't make it any less awesome when a faceless ninja dives through machine gun fire to slice off the arms of its user, causing said machine gun to fall on the ground and spray fire at random asshole cowboys.

And by the way, when I mentioned the love story between Dong-jun and Bosworth, I basically mean sword training montages interspersed with lingering looks and I think maybe one kiss. Just enough to show the audience that this guy has something to fight for now. We wouldn't want him to just go around cutting off heads for no reason. We're not mindless animals here, folks.

Plus, I'd be remiss if I forgot about the appearance of one Mr. Stephen "Captain Barbosa" Fry. This has got to be the absolute ugliest man I've ever laid eyes on. But he's still more man that I could ever hope to be, and this movie is no exception. In fact, if I have one complaint about the movie, it's that there wasn't enough Stephen Fry. That, and through the whole movie he never said "Damn! Ninjas." Come on, guys. When you basically center your previews on a phrase like that, it should pay off in the actual movie.

Other than that, however, there isn't anything bad in this movie for me to complain about. That's because it's all supposed to be bad. And it is. It's a terrible movie. But like I said, it put a big smile on my face. And in the end that's all I ask. Bravo to Rogue Pictures for being willing to distribute such delightful schlock. I look forward to their upcoming opus, Season of the Witch. It's got Nicolas Cage in it. I don't think I really need to explain myself any further.

Grade: A

It's "Caffè". Not "Coffee". Stupid American.

Editor's Note: Ha! I called myself the editor...I'm awesome. Anyway, we have our very first guest post today, courtesy of the little woman. I promised this was coming a couple of weeks ago, but she didn't get around to writing it for the crappy excuse of having an actual life to lead. Oh well. Enjoy some estrogen-laced ranting!

So, as all two of you know, the Grump and I were lucky enough to travel to Florence (Italy not New Jersey) for our honeymoon. It was an amazing trip and I'm sure you guys have kept up with the hub's posts concerning our awesome time there. While most of the things that the Grump saw as major enjoyment roadblocks (like not knowing the language...oh, wah) I simply ignored as I most likely had a glass of chianti in hand at the time. However, as a coffee drinker, my honeymoon buzz was nearly disrupted by the lack of a decent cup of joe anywhere in the country.

I started drinking coffee in college, mostly just to get going for my 10:00 a.m. classes. God, I miss college. Anyway, I was introduced to coffee through the roach trucks on campus.

Mmm.Grease.

This is coffee that had been brewing for about three days before the cup was shoved into your hand by Vlad, who may or may not be a convicted felon in the old country. Zombie-like, you totter the first few feet towards your class while taking your first tongue scalding sip. What happens internally is only what I can describe as a Van Damme kick to your frontal cortex, tongue and vital organs. Externally, for me anyway, it looks and sounds something like this:

Needlessly to say, I reached the point where this kung fu showdown with my early morning brain function is something that I now require to start off my day. So, imagine my surprise when I asked for a coffee in Italy and the waiter plunked this down in front of me:

"I feel like I'm gonna break this damned thing."

I know what you guys are thinking. "Mrs.Grump, (because you guys are polite) that appears to be an espresso. Coffee-zilla. Even for an addict like yourself, it should be more than sufficient to satisfy your coffee jones." Well, Grumpites, it's not. I like to enjoy my caffeine buzz. Savor it, if you will. And I just can't do that when there's only a quarter of an inch of metallic tasting liquid with an entire pack of sugar thrown in.

Puzzled, I consulted my trusty Frommer's. Skipping past the potential set up they give you for being roofied by someone named Gio the second you step into a bar, "caffè" is listed as the Italian word for coffee....and espresso. Seriously? So a couple of days and almost one full espresso cup later, I overhear a table of French tourists ordering a "caffè americano". I know, right? The last group you would think would order anything "americano". So I give that a whirl and I'm given a cup of something that was quite obviously espresso watered down with the spit of the cafe waiters. Ugh. Good thing it's socially acceptable to order wine at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday here, otherwise there would be dead bodies littering the piazza.

So to bring this rambling post to a conclusion, my coffee confusion was cleared up about a month later when I stumbled upon this post by The Oatmeal, who I absolutely love and am also a little afraid of. While I don't agree with his assessment of the whole Italian/American coffee situation (Espresso with or without water blows goats either way in the categories of taste and strength), I'd recommend reading it before you venture off into the land of Italy. Or just have a backup cup of diner coffee waiting for you like I did when you land.

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: Jeeves and Wooster

After last week's tangent that had little to nothing to do with Hugh Laurie, I'll try and stay on point as we take a look at Jeeves and Wooster, a.k.a. A Bit of Fry and Laurie, 1930s Style. For those of you who read more than I do (don't be too impressed with yourselves) you might know Jeeves and Wooster as characters from the short stories of P.G. Wodehouse. The series was adapted for TV by Clive Exton, whose prior work includes the epic period piece Red Sonja.

And the Oscar never, ever goes to...

One thing that I have to share with you from the show is the opening sequence. You'll see that Hugh Laurie is nowhere to be found, but you'll also find that the theme song will be stuck in your head for a better part of the day.



As the following clip will show, there isn't a whole lot about Jeeves and Wooster that will surprise you if you're already familiar with the work of Fry and Laurie, aside from the fact that Fry plays the straight man a bit more than in the past. Laurie, as usual, is a buffoon, and similar to his turn as Prince George he's even dumber for not realizing that he's a buffoon. The humor is a bit more low-key here, and to be honest a little of this show goes a long way for me, but it's still worth a look.

The Christmas Shoes: Proof That God Either Doesn't Exist Or Really Enjoys Screwing With Us From Time To Time

I need to make a correction from Monday's post. In my ranting about the insufferable nature of patriotic pop music, I incorrectly named "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (Angry American)" as the worst thing ever written. This is a grave error. It is by no means the worst thing ever written, and I apologize for making such a statement.

After all, how can "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue" possibly be the worst song in a world where this exists...



Now, it may surprise you to know that I actually like Christmas music. I even look forward to when the local douche bag top 40 station goes to all Christmas music after Thanksgiving. It gives me time to forget that I'm a cynical asshole for a few minutes on my ride home from work. That's why I get extra fucking pissed when I hear these idiots from Newsong spew this shallow, bullshit bowl of nothing.

I mean, come on. Shoes? Fucking shoes? Of all the things that you could have come up with to shamelessly tug on the old heartstrings you're giving me footwear? And don't give me any kind of weak crap about how it's meant to convey the simple innocence of a child trying to show his love the only way he knows how. If I'm dying of the unnamed disease that is apparently killing the mom in this song, my kid had better not come at me with a pair of goddamn shoes unless he wants me to smother him with the pillow from my hospital bed.

And I'd also like to know what kind of values this family has instilled in this kid, where he thinks that Jesus really gives a shit what his mom's wearing on her feet when she buys it. As if Joan Rivers is going to be waiting in the tunnel of light to bust her chops if she's not wearing Manolos.
"Oh! Can we talk about that hospital gown? It's so assisted living! But that could be forgiven if her brat of a son would have bought her some decent shoes!"

Ugh.

And what the hell is Rob Lowe doing in the shitty TV movie based off this shitty song? I didn't even find that out until today. This man is Sam Seaborn! He was a senior aide to the president of the United States of America, and he deserves better than that!

God, now I've gone and gotten myself depressed in this season of love and family. Thanks a lot Newsong. I hope your exploitation of empty sentimentalism makes you feel really good about yourselves. It's thrilling to know that you're likely richer than I'll ever hope to be. Merry Christmas, trouser stains.

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: "America"

After a lovely Thanksgiving holiday of eating turkey and not writing any posts, it seems I'll be following up last week's non-House Hugh Laurie segment with....another non-House Hugh Laurie segment. But in my defense, I'll be doing so with an aspect of Hugh Laurie that we haven't seen yet, which is Hugh Laurie's ability to write and sing ridiculous songs.

The song I chose for this week, "America," hits a particular note with me for two reasons. First, I cannot fucking stand when pop musicians cash in on American patriotism. And yes, I'm looking squarely at you, Toby Keith. "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (Angry American)" may be the worst song ever written in the history of anything being written. If you haven't heard it, do yourself a favor. Don't. Just don't ever.

Basically, a man who has made his living playing a musical instrument has taken it upon himself to warn terrorists of the ass-kicking they have coming. But, lest you think his motives for writing a song about American patriotism in the wake of 9/11 are anything less than pure, just remember Keith simply had to write it as a tribute to his father:

It wasn’t written for everybody. And when you write something from your heart - I had a dad that was a veteran, taught me how precious our freedom is - I was so angry when we were attacked here on American soil that it leaked out of me. You know, some people wept when they heard it. Some people got goose bumps. Some people were emotionally moved. Some cheered, turned their fists in the air.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Fuck you times a million. There is nothing more nauseating than watching the macho posturing of a man you know has never been put in harms way for a single day in his life. This is just a shallow rallying cry for people looking for any excuse to shout "America, fuck yeah!" without any hint of irony.

Which brings me to the second thing that "America" brings to my mind. Fellow complainer Lewis Black made the best point that I've ever heard about mindless country pride in a bit on his CD, The End of the Universe. I can't seem to find the exact quote, but it comes down to this: Imagine you have a coworker who wanders around the office continually shouting "I'm the
best motherfucker in this place!" Eventually, you and your fellow office mates will rise up and slay him.

Yes, we live in a great country with a lot to be thankful for, so we should enjoy it and even be proud of it. But do we need to rub it into the faces of everyone we know just to make the point that we think their lives are a big pile of dogshit? For Christ's sake, let's settle down a bit, huh?

So...um. I think this post has taken a bit of a turn. Perhaps its time to get to the clip before I get too lost up my own ass. Enjoy some light musical satire, folks!

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: Strapless

If there is anything I like more than movies and movie trivia, it's crappy movies that big name actors would like to forget they were ever in. If I ever met, for instance, Adrien Brody, I would not dream of mentioning his Academy Award winning performance in The Pianist. Shit, I've never even seen that movie. Nor would I ask him what it was like to act the part of a disabled person in The Village, or how hard it was to bulk up for Predators. Nah, if I ever met Adrien Brody, I would smile, look him in the eye, and say "I loved you in Angels in the Outfield."

If you didn't know that Adrien Brody was in that movie, don't worry. I'm fairly certain he forgot he was in it, too. But everyone in showbusiness has to work through that crappy movie, either to get started or to make a house payment. And Hugh Laurie is no exception.

To be fair, I know very little about this week's pick, a 1989 movie called Strapless. The synopsis on IMDB is some drivel about an American doctor who goes to work in London and meets some guy and blah blah blah whatever. What's important is that Hugh Laurie is neither of these characters, nor is he anywhere in the vicinity of top billing. In fact, I'm pretty sure the following montage is at least 80% of all of Laurie's scenes as the character Colin.



So for all I know about the movie, Strapless could be a cult hit in England. It may be what kicked his career into high gear, paving the way for his introduction to the U.S. as Gregory House. But seeing as that breakthrough didn't come until a decade and a half later, I'm going to say that's a big no. I just hope he bought something really cool with the money. A minibar, perhaps?

Half Marathons Are At Least 0.5 Times As Good As Full Marathons

I ran in the Philadelphia Half-Marathon today. Me and 24,000 of my closest running pals gathered at the Art Museum and tested our mettle. I'd run one other half marathon in my life, but that was about 11 years and 40 pounds ago, so I wanted to see if I could still pull it off. I'd been training for a few months with the sole goal of running the entire race without having to walk, which I couldn't do the first time around. Follow me, if you will, as I take you through what goes through a large, somewhat overweight runner's mind as he runs 13.1 miles.

7:00am (0 miles)--We're lined up in our starting groups, and the announcer gives us a countdown to get everyone started....3, 2, 1! And the race has begun.

7:10am (0 miles)--I still can't even see the actual starting line, and I begin to realize my race won't be starting any time soon.

7:24am (0 miles)--My group finally gets started. The mayor is giving high fives to people as they get started, but I there is a line of 4 people waiting to get a chance to get one. I pass, as I have very important running to do.

7:36am (1 miles)--I'm feeling good, although not thrilled that it took me 12 minutes to run a mile because all of these jerks are in my way. Clear a path, people!

7:47am (2 miles)--This is really cool. I get to run through Center City Philadelphia without worrying about cars or, more importantly, bicyclists. Stupid fucking bicyclists.

7:57am (3 miles)--Now I'm getting my rhythm. I like my pace and I'm even passing a lot of people. This pace will in no way come back to bite me in the ass later on.

8:07am (4 miles)--Running down South Street. Must resist urge to run into Jim's for a cheesesteak.

8:17am (5 miles)--Making my way down Chestnut Street and through a major part of Center City Philadelphia. Coming to terms with the fact that if I was not running in this race I would want to kill everyone in the world for fucking up the city's traffic patterns.

8:27am (6 miles)--I'm almost halfway done! Still feeling really good, with the adrenaline and the cheers of the crowd keeping me moving. Hey, maybe next year I'll even try a full marathon!

8:37am (7 miles)--I think it was around here that I could see the river, where a good number of the full marathon runners have already passed the 13.1 mile marker and are in the second half of their run. My feelings are hurt a little bit, but I'm OK.

8:58am (9 miles)--OK, I'm hitting a bit of a wall now. But I'm on the back end of the run so as long as nothing unexpected comes up, I should be fine.

9:04am (9.5 miles)--Who the fuck decided to put the courses largest hill at the 9 mile portion of the race!? Are they trying to make me cry? Obviously there's a conspiracy here.

9:08am (9.8 miles)--Well at least they put a water station soon after the hill. And this one even has energy gel! I never realized how dense this stuff was. While trying to eat it I can only assume that I look like a dog with peanut butter in it's mouth.

9:21am (11 miles)--Fucking bicyclists! Just one of these assholes manages to insert himself in this race, and I get stuck next to him in a crowded downhill section of the race, so I get to hear him constantly creaking his breaks as he keeps almost hitting runners. Die.

9:22am (11.1 miles)--Oh, and I am dying right now. I haven't hit the wall, I've torpedoed into it.

9:33am (12 miles)--Oh, thank you Jesus. One more mile.

9:39am (12.5 miles)--Shit, are these miles marked properly?

9:45am (12.8 miles)--They start directing half-marathoners to one side and full-marathoners tot he left. I realize that if I was running a full marathon, I'd just about be at the half-way point. I make a solemn pact with myself right then and there to never run a full marathon in my life.

9:46am (13.1 miles)--I've made it! I've run 13.1 miles without stopping! .....Oh dear God. If I stop moving my legs I think every muscle in them may just seize.

Well, thankfully they didn't seize. I must admit I was a little bummed out that I came in a little bit behind the 1st place female runner...of the full marathon. But all in all it was a pretty great run. Plus, afterward, I had my lady waiting for me AND a waffle breakfast. Not a bad way to end a day. Yes, I realize it's only around 10am at this point. But I don't really plan on doing jack shit for the rest of the day.

Why Couldn't Eric Stoltz Go Back To The Future?

I'm a big fan of useless movie trivia. I'll admit, this is a bit of a redundant phrase, similar to "irritating Oasis song." But I can't get enough of tidbits about how a movie was made, especially things about the parts they cut out. For example, did you know that Kevin Smith originally ended Clerks by having Dante killed by a robber? Or that Chris Farley would have been the voice of Shrek if not for his untimely death?

Well, one of the recent "What could have been" movie reveals is that Back to the Future's Marty McFly wasn't originally Michael J. Fox. He was the studio's first choice, but he was too busy with Family Ties, so they went with option B: Eric Stoltz. Take a gander at the clip below, and behold the surreal image of shot for shot scenes with Stoltz replacing Fox.



That's pretty much a bummer for Eric Stoltz, isn't it? Five weeks of shooting and then he gets shit canned? I like Eric Stoltz, too, and I wonder if he was really as wrong for the role as they say he was. I decided to put this question to the test in the most half-assed way possible: take two movies, one with Michael J. Fox and one with Eric Stoltz, and compare their performances to see who would be a better fit. I did away with pesky scientific concepts like "controls" or "legitimate effort," and just picked two movies from the eighties that I liked.

For my Michael J. Fox sample, I went with the terrifying tale of pubescent lycanthropy, Teen Wolf. Fox plays Scott, an small-town high school basketball player who finds out he's a werewolf. And when the rest of his school finds out, instead of fleeing in terror/forming a mob to destroy the evil beast, they make him the most popular kid in school. But forget about the plot, my aim here was to analyze Fox's performance. And I must say, with the material given, this guy should have won an Academy Award (or at least a Golden Globe). He somehow manages to take a character in an insanely idiotic premise and make him seem natural.

In the case of Eric Stoltz, I at least wanted to choose an example from around the same time as Teen Wolf. I could have chosen Mask, but it didn't really have a comparable tone to Teen Wolf and it would have been too difficult to resist my natural urge to make fun of people who have unfortunate physical ailments. So, I went with the John Hughes produced Some Kind of Wonderful, where Stoltz plays a middle-class outcast named Keith who finds himself going out on a date with popular girl Amanda (Lea Thompson). Stoltz gives a fine performance as quiet and brooding artist who gets by in the movie with a subtle, likable cool.

And here I think is where I agree with the choice of Fox over Stoltz. It's pretty obvious that nothing in Back to the Future calls for quiet or subtle. Even in the few short shots of Stoltz from the dumped footage from Future, you can tell he's trying to play it straight, which really would not have worked given the ridiculous premise (if you don't already know the premise you can kindly leave now).

In all fairness, it seems that even Stoltz wasn't comfortable with his performance. In a phone call with director Peter Bogdanovich, Stoltz confessed to feeling "wrong for the role." In a 2007 interview with Moviehole, Stoltz had the tone of a man looking on the bright side of losing the part.

You know, it was twenty-something years ago and I rarely look back, if at all; but in retrospect, I think just getting through that difficult period helped me realize how freeing it really was. I went back to acting school, I moved to Europe, I did some plays in New York and I actually invested in [pause] myself in a way that was much healthier for me. If I had become a massive star, I don't know if I wouldn't have gone into therapy. On the other hand, I would've been exceedingly rich which would've been wonderful!

So, even though I agree with the fact that Michael J. Fox was much more suited for the role, it still seems like Eric Stoltz kinda got screwed out of some big fame and money. Although, if the movie sucked with him in it, then maybe his career would have been even worse. Either way, we likely would not have been blessed with his awesome bit part as heroin dealer Lance from Pulp Fiction (he's the dude in the clip who's not John Travolta).

This Week In Non-House Hugh Laurie: Blackadder Goes Forth

OK, this will be the last of the Blackadder Hugh Laurie. Other than a special here and there this was the last season of the series, which ran in 1989. This iteration of Laurie's character is Lieutenant George Colthurst St. Barliegh, right hand man of Rowan Atkinson's Captain Blackadder. Laurie is doing his usual clueless goofball schtick here, and I really didn't have much to say about it until I watched these clips from a Blackadder documentary:



At around 3:45, Laurie discusses the challenge of making a screwball comedy set in the trenches of World War I, and it hit me that this was the first season where the characters are actually likeable people. As funny as the earlier seasons are, most of the characters in them, especially Laurie's Prince George III, are kind of assholes. But in the fourth season, Lt. St. Barleigh may be an idiot, but at least he's brave and loyal. Hell, in the final scene, just about everyone gets to go out as the good guys. Unfortunately, they're also going out in a charge against German machine guns:



I don't know about you, but I was kind of impressed by how they chose to close out the final season. But if you're also like me, you'll find yourself fairly depressed as well. So let's end Laurie's Blackadder stint on a happy note:

The Grumps' Italian Adventure: Day 8, or Random Thoughts On Italy

OK, so as it turns out I didn't have enough material for 10 days of posting. I don't think 8 days is too shabby, however. As I don't really have any topics worthy of a full post, I'll just share a few things that have been rattling around in my head since I got back:

• I don't fly well. I guess I never noticed this because I'd never been on a plane for 10 hours before. But I can really be quite the bastard at the end of a flight. I blame this on my family's problem of having really bad ears when it comes to pressure changes. While I know that a popping sensation in one's ears is normal during airline travel, I don't think it's normal to feel like someone stuck a screwdriver in my ear hours after I got off the fucking plane. So I must admit, by the time I get off the actual plane, I'm less than cordial, even to my lovely wife. Sorry baby.
  

• Airline policies suck ass. I may be a prick when I fly, but I refuse to take all of the blame. If you're not supposed to bring meat products back from other countries, then that information should be readily available to read BEFORE you've purchased almost 50 bucks worth of Italian salami and gotten it 90% of the way through U.S. customs. Not to mention that this was after about 14 hours worth of going through inefficient security stations and boarding procedures. I think what gets me the most pissed off about airlines is that their security is reactionary. Perhaps if these schmucks would think far enough ahead to create some kind of technology that's flexible enough to catch the crap that they didn't think of before, then they wouldn't have to update their carry-on policies every five minutes. Oh, someone managed to put a bomb in a shoe? Then you'll have to take yours off and put it through the x-ray machine every time you fly. Someone made a bomb out of liquid?
  Then you can only have less than 3 ounces on the plane from now on. I'd hate to see what would happen if someone managed to plant a bomb in one of his testicles. I'm picturing a small guillotine next to the metal detector.

• We must be actively trying to become obese in the U.S. I spent ten days in Italy, making absolutely no attempt to watch what I ate. Yet somehow, I managed to lose two pounds. That's not much, I know, but considering I ate enough prosciutto to risk a swine shortage in the Chianti region, I should be about 300 pounds by now. I don't know what we're putting in our food here, but we should seriously look into switching to what they're having. Although, my weight loss may also have been due to the fact that everything in the Chianti region is at least at a 30 degree incline. It's unreal. I always laughed when an elderly person would say they had to walk uphill both ways to get to school everyday. But now I realized they weren't full of shit if they grew up in Italy.

• Being worried about acting like a stereotypical arrogant American while traveling abroad is the most surefire way of acting like a stereotypical arrogant American while traveling abroad. I so didn't want to be that guy. But within a day of arriving at our hotel I managed to call the guy working the counter "Matt" about 13 times before I realized his name was Andreas. And I managed to pull off the ever-helpful language barrier busting technique of yelling things slowly and obnoxiously in English. Because, after all, anyone should be able to understand English as long as you speak it to them as if they are a deaf child. Shockingly, I don't think I turned into the hotel's favorite guest. My natural reaction to this suspicion was to think they were the assholes, because anyone who doesn't think I'm awesome is clearly a douche bag.
  

• The final conclusion that I pull from everything I've posted about this trip is pretty simple. I am one lucky guy to be married to Mrs. Grump. I'd imagine that traveling with me is similar to going on vacation with an ill-tempered gorilla that can form basic sentences. Yet even so, Mrs. Grump made sure we had an excellent honeymoon. We saw sights that I'd probably only ever see on a computer screen if left to my own devices. I ate food that makes me tear up a little bit just to think about it (On a side note, if you ever have a chance to eat food that has wild boar in it, do it. Don't think about it. Just do it). I even managed to pick up a phrases of Italian. I think my favorite was "due." It's nothing special. It just means "two." But it was the word I used the most often because anything I ordered or purchased was always in duplicate to accommodate my new wife. And that makes me happy.

Speaking of the wife, stay tuned for a special guest post sometime next week from Mrs. Grump herself. I don't drink coffee, but according to Mrs. Grump, anything good you've heard about Italian coffee is a bold-faced lie. Check in sometime next week to find out why.

The Grumps' Italian Adventure: Day 7, or Gotthard Is The Best Swiss Band In Italy

Yes, yes. I know I missed yesterday's Italy post. Cut me some slack work has been a pain in the ass. Actually it's pretty delusional of me to think that anyone even noticed that I missed a day, but that's not the point. It's the principle of the thing. Unfortunately, work has been giving me a healthy kick in the pills for the last couple of days so I haven't gotten around to doing anything productive since yesterday morning.

Anyway, midway through our trip Mrs. Grump and I had go to the local laundromat to wash our clothes because we didn't feel like lugging ten days worth of clothes with us over to Italy. While at the laundromat we were passing the time by making fun of the crappy Italian music videos that were playing on the TV, which was made even funnier by the fact that there was no sound. Next time you're watching your very favorite band in a music video, try turning the sound off. Without fail it will be the dumbest fucking thing you've ever seen.

One video, however, was so awful that I had to see if I could find it on YouTube when I got back to the apartment. Fortunately for everyone in the world, I was able to find it. It's actually a Swiss band called Gotthard, who named themselves after both a mountain pass and the act of pitching a tent. Pun: accomplished.

Alright, I've kept you from this long enough. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Unconditional Faith."



I just don't know where to begin, here. I think I'll go with pointing out the mandolin player. What about him? Well, basically just the fact that he exists. There is a grown man in the middle of a rock band playing an itty bitty guitar. And he's rocking that shit.

Also, can anyone tell me where the story of the boxer is supposed to go? He's training, he wins a fight, and he goes back home to his wife. I mean, that's lovely and all, but is there a point? Or are we just going for a surrealistic depiction of a white guy beating a black guy in a boxing match?

I think what I like best about this video is that it actually got worse when I was able to watch it with sound, it actually got worse. And it's not just that the song is bad. Well, yeah it is bad. But when you watch that music video while it plays with that song, you get an entity that transcends itself and evolves into art on par with Plan 9 from Outer Space.

Sadly, the lead singer of Gotthard, Steve Lee, recently died in a motorcycle accident. That really is a bummer, and I will take the high road for perhaps the first time in my life and not make a joke about it. In fact, I better just end this post now before I wind up accidentally saying something that makes me look like a complete dick.

The Grumps' Italian Adventure: Day 6, or The Devil Is A Pigeon In Florence

I'm not going to lie to you. This pigeon kind of scared the shit out of me. Mrs. Grump and I found this guy perched on a statue outside of the Uffizi Gallery, and he really did not seem to be happy to share the same air as us ground dwellers. At first he just looked like he was part of the statue, because he did not move. At all. But then I realized that nothing on the statue seemed as evil as that little fucker.

And since when did pigeons have the ability to retract their heads into their necks, thereby turning themselves into a demonic, uncircumcised penis? Although, maybe my looking at a pigeon and seeing a dick says more about me than it does the bird.

Phallic illusions aside, I still had trouble taking this guy's picture. Seeing him through the digital display of the camera made him seem a lot closer to me than I was comfortable with. I was expecting to take the camera away and find him only inches away from my face, ready to murder and devour me in front of hundreds of people. Fortunately, I was able to escape with my life and fly home to Philly where the pigeons aren't demonic. They're just assholes.